


sweeter than fiction

by thimble



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 07:14:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thimble/pseuds/thimble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He stands, stationary under the basket, as guys half his size try their hardest to dribble or shoot past him. He bats the ball away with ease, thinking of how many chips he would have been able to eat already if he’d been sitting on the bleachers instead.</p><p>What a terrible sport. What a gigantic waste of time. He doesn’t think anyone can change his mind about that.</p><p>(He never anticipated meeting Himuro Tatsuya.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	sweeter than fiction

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the assumption that Himuro moved back to Japan at the start of the school year and not mid-semester.

He accepts Yosen’s offer because Masako-chin is pretty, and he joins the basketball team because it’s expected of him. He attends the tryouts only as a formality, because if his status as a Miracle hadn’t secured his spot on the lineup, his height would’ve done it. It’s so obvious,  _so_  boring.

He stands, stationary under the basket, as guys half his size try their hardest to dribble or shoot past him. He bats the ball away with ease, thinking of how many chips he would have been able to eat already if he’d been sitting on the bleachers instead.

What a terrible sport. What a gigantic waste of time. He doesn’t think anyone can change his mind about that.

(He never anticipated meeting Himuro Tatsuya.)

* * *

 

They call him Yosen’s next ace, not that words like that mattered much to Atsushi. He’d crushed countless aces during his time in Teiko, and he’d seen elite teams burst into tears at the sight of a hundred-point lead. Himuro-senpai is nearly a foot shorter than Atsushi which means Atsushi loses track of him sometimes, though he will never disappear in an empty room like Kuro-chin, and he’s attractive in an objective sort of way, trading Kise-chin’s flashiness in favor of subtlety.

Still, he doesn’t look like much, not until Atsushi sees him play; he makes time stop when he shoots, like Mido-chin but  _slower_ , as if that were possible, and though he isn’t as fast and loose-limbed as Mine-chin he moves with the same effortless grace that he should have been born with.

(It’s much later on that Atsushi realized it’s the fruit of hard work, but by then Muro-chin had earned his respect.)

Maybe aces aren’t so bad, as long as they’re on Atsushi’s team.

* * *

 

The rest of the regulars are his senpais, and he concedes to their authority well enough — Himuro-senpai included — but it does not go unnoticed that he is  _leagues_  beyond them. For this reason they do not contest his insistence to play defense  _only_ , though it does help that despite his complaining and constant munching, he never skips out on practice. They don’t give him many allowances, but none of them explicity challenge him either.

Himuro-senpai excluded.

"Don’t hold back," Atsushi is told, when they’re paired up for a one-on-one.

"Sure," he says, not really meaning it. He blocks Himuro-senpai’s regular plays without breaking a sweat and Atsushi can hardly believe that he likened this guy to his teammates from Teiko; he seemed so much more impressive from afar. He’s a little irritated from being tricked like that when Himuro-senpai pulls his  _real_ trick, the series of fakes that never fails to stun his audience, never mind his opponents. It’s even more breathtaking up close.

Atushi still wins, ten points to Himuro-senpai’s eight, but his lungs get a workout in the process. They head for the showers when they’re done, and there’s a hint of scolding in Himuro-senpai’s smile as he says, “good game.”

His  _don’t underestimate me again_  goes unspoken. Atsushi’s nerves bristle at the taunt, but it’s not unwelcome; it’s better than the haze of apathy he’s been stuck in lately.

"You too, Muro-chin."

* * *

 

They end up playing each other dozens of times after that, outside of their daily practice. Atsushi normally will not have stood for it, but Muro-chin has mastered the art of bribery and has taken to plying him with sweets and promises of trips to candy shops in exchange for one-on-ones in whichever unoccupied court they find.

(There is just one other person who used to keep him happy with snacks and refers to him by his first name, but Atsushi avoids drawing comparisons between him and Muro-chin as a preemptive measure.)

It happens so often that it affects their interactions on court. Muro-chin is still the only one who can manage to get past him, and over time Atsushi gains fluency in reading Muro-chin’s movements. He doesn’t catch every fake, but he comes close.

"Murasakibara and Himuro," Masako-chin calls out to them one day. "I want you two to perfect your pass courses."

“What’s the point?” Atsushi takes out an umaibo from his shorts pocket and starts eating it, because he knows it drives her crazy. “I only play defense.”

Masako-chin reaches for her shinai and Muro-chin pinches him in the side to make him stop talking. “Just the two of us, coach? What about the rest of the team?” Muro-chin asks with his most placating smile. It barely works.

"Consider it a backup plan." Masako-chin dismisses them, though they had scrambled away as soon as they saw that giant vein on her forehead throbbing.

"We better do as she says," Muro-chin remarks as they walk back to the dorms after training. He sighs as if in resignation, but Atsushi isn’t so easily fooled.

"It’s your fault, Muro-chin. And you’re  _happy_  about it, because you get to play more basketball. ” Atsushi narrows his eyes in accusation, and Muro-chin sighs again, though he doesn’t deny it.

"I’ll buy you your favorite snack?"

Atsushi mulls it over for two seconds then grunts his forgiveness, putting his palm on the small of Muro-chin’s back to steer him into the direction of the convenience store.

* * *

 

He keeps a list of facts he learns about Muro-chin in the rare instances neither of them have a basketball in hand. (He suspects that Muro-chin has a similar list with his name on it, and it is, admittedly, a very Sa-chin thing to do.) This is what Atsushi has so far:

1\. He has little interest in girls, though that doesn’t stop them from being interested in him.

2\. He speaks Japanese like a native, but his penmanship is atrocious.

3\. He has a penchant for sour candy, and sour foods in general.

4\. He swears, surfs the internet, and talks to his parents in English.

5\. He has a habit of fiddling with the ring on the chain around his neck when he’s bored.

6\. He is neater than the average only child; his roommate has no complaints with him.

7\. He has no talent in basketball to speak of.

* * *

 

The Mirage Shot debuts on particularly bad day for both of them. Atsushi’s shoulders are still sore from yesterday’s grueling practice, so most of his defense motions are half-hearted. Muro-chin is less than pleased by this, snapping at him repeatedly for not giving it his all.

"So what?" He swipes the ball from Muro-chin’s grasp and dunks it in with a single hand, lip curled with a rare cruelty. "I’m better than you anyway. That won’t change, no matter how much you train."

It’s a low blow, because Atsushi knows about his strict, self-inflicted regimen more than anyone else; knows that he is the first to arrive at the gym every day, and the last to leave. Muro-chin responds by stealing the rebound and shifting to a shooting form in front of him.

Atsushi almost feels sorry for lifting his arm to block the shot, though not sorry enough; he’s still pissed off and he’s in a crushing mood, even if it  _is_  Muro-chin.

Then Muro-chin gets this dangerous gleam in his eye, and when the ball leaves his fingers it heads straight for the basket in a lovely arc that completely misses the rims, as if Atsushi hadn’t been there at all. The entire gym seems to have witnessed it, because everyone falls silent aside from the awestruck whispers.

"Did you see what I saw?"

"But Murasakibara blocked the shot, right?"

"It’s like it passed through his hand!"

Atsushi realizes how  _abnormal_  that had been, and how Muro-chin’s earlier anger had reminded him of a friend who turned into someone else before his very eyes. Maybe he  _is_  a monster, since he is responsible for drawing the ugliness out of otherwise kind people like Aka-chin, and now Muro-chin.

He wets his lips so he can speak, perhaps to apologize if it’s not too late, but Muro-chin only tilts his head to the side and smiles like he’s relieved.

"I’ve been working on that for a while."

(And contrary to what Atsushi is used to, Muro-chin stays the same.)

* * *

 

8\. He does not seem unhappy to share his title when the two of them are dubbed as Yosen’s double aces.

* * *

 

"Okay," Muro-chin says when Atsushi refuses to play in the finals, as per Aka-chin’s orders. "Then I won’t either."

"Huh? Why not?"

"I’m sure the veterans can handle themselves. What do you want to do instead?"

Atsushi rips into a pack of barbecue chips so he won’t have to think too much about Muro-chin’s bizarre reasoning. “Dunno.”

"Well, how about a visit to Tokyo?"

* * *

 

Kagami does not look the least bit like Muro-chin, but at the end of the cancelled match Atsushi does not doubt that they are brothers.

"Oh, really?" Muro-chin seems unfazed by the encounter, but he’s been touching the ring more than usual.

Atsushi’s knuckles are achy from wringing rainwater out of his clothes, and his nose is tingling with the threat of a cold. “Yeah. You’re both annoying.” Not even plucking at Kagami’s weird eyebrows had been worth getting sick over.

Muro-chin’s ever-autumn laugh, however… “I’m sorry, Atsushi. Can I treat you to ramen to make it up to you?”

"With seaweed noodles?"

"With seaweed noodles."

"Fine." Atsushi sniffs mightily and hopes the snot doesn’t actually make an appearance. "I’ll take Muro-chin sightseeing next week, when I’m not sick. But you’re not allowed to wander into street courts."

It takes him a moment to realize that Muro-chin hadn’t even brought it up, and that he offered to do it without being asked. He loves Muro-chin for not taking the opportunity to tease him despite the sudden crimson quality of his ears.

"That sounds fair," Muro-chin says, giving him a tissue just before he sneezes. "I’m looking forward to it."

* * *

 

9\. He has managed to make Atsushi (fall in) love (with) him, whatever the hell that means.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem to be a mirage.

* * *

 

 _Double training for the double aces_  is what Masako-chin calls their new training schedule. She says that it’s to increase their stamina for the upcoming Winter Cup, but they know it’s their punishment for skipping the Interhigh. Neither of them have any regrets, though Masako-chin is intent on changing that.

Even the senpais give them pitying looks when Atsushi’s knees buckle — that had  _never_  happened in Teiko — or when Muro-chin is driven to puking up his lunch outside. When he enters the gym again he’s as collected as ever, as if they hadn’t heard his retching noises, though Atsushi thinks it’s unfair how he can’t picture Muro-chin throwing up as anything less than flawless.

"So even ikemen vomit, huh?" Fukui-senpai chides. Muro-chin doesn’t even blink as he walks to the center, picks up a ball, and passes it to Atsushi, who catches it instinctively just like they’d been rehearsing.

Masako-chin nods her approval from the bleachers and tells them to run ten laps as a reward.

* * *

 

They push their single beds together because Atsushi’s feet would dangle off the edge otherwise. He flops his entire weight on top of them when they’re done, groaning into the fluffy pillow.

"I’m tired, Muro-chin. Turn off the lights."

"No you’re not, you barely moved today." Muro-chin admonishes, though he crosses to the other side of the hotel room to comply with Atsushi’s request anyway. He leaves the night lamp on and squeezes into the small space unoccupied by Atsushi, allows himself a slow exhale.

"Do you think we’ll win the Winter Cup?"

Atsushi doesn’t have to think twice about it. “No. We’ll place second, next to Aka-chin.”

He can tell that Muro-chin doesn’t like that answer, but he accepts it. “Ah, of course.” Their arms are touching; Muro-chin’s warmth rivals the cold outside, and it’s nice. Or at least it is until Muro-chin pokes him in the ribs just as his eyelids are getting droopy.

"How about tomorrow?"

Atsushi growls low in his throat, reaching an arm out and blindly groping around until gets a hold on Muro-chin, whom he pulls and tucks into his side, a big hand resting on his face. “Stop talking.”

Muro-chin’s shoulders tremble in quiet laughter, batting the hand from his face but still letting Atsushi use him as a body pillow.

"Just humor me. Can we win against Seirin?"

"Muro-chin’s being stupid. Tomorrow I’m going to crush Kiyoshi Teppei, and you’re going to defeat Kagami. Simple." He’s not sure why they’re still talking about it because it might as well be set in stone.

"When did you get so smart, Atsushi?" Muro-chin’s yawn tickles his ear, and something about Muro-chin’s breath on his skin makes his insides twist. He shifts so he can bury his nose in Muro-chin’s hair instead, silky and smelling faintly of shampoo.

"While you were beating up hooligans in America. Now shut up, I want to sleep."

It’s the fourth day of the tournament and no one has scored a point against them yet; it’s impossible for them to lose.

* * *

 

 _Is this love?_  he thinks, as Muro-chin jerks him forward by the front of his jersey, simultaneously yelling at him and trickling tears over his face. Some of them slip past his lips and land on his tongue; they taste salty like all of Muro-chin’s hard work, bitter like all of his stifled heartache.  _It’s so bothersome._

But it’s that love that kicks him to get to his feet, that takes everything he used to think was annoying and turns it into something he now finds amazing. He watches Muro-chin rub his eyes raw with knuckles that had introduced themselves to Atsushi’s cheekbone, pretty and brittle all at once.

"It can’t be helped," Atsushi says again to himself, as he fixes the ponytail at his nape.

The game is over in three minutes, though it seems to last much longer than that. Atsushi’s legs let him down in the end, though he doesn’t think he’s been proven wrong; Kagami is just more talented than him, that’s all it is.

It doesn’t explain the painful knot in his chest at their loss, or the grit of his teeth when he cries. Muro-chin sits with him until he’s calmer, thumb tracing circles on his knee, and does him the favor of not believing him he says he hates this shitty sport.

* * *

 

10\. He is not a Miracle and he never will be, but he pulls off a similar feat; he makes Atsushi fall in love with basketball again.

* * *

 

"It was your fault, you know."

Muro-chin looks up at him through his eyelashes, lightly frosted with snowflakes, or maybe that was just Atsushi’s mind painting him as picturesque. “Hm?”

Atsushi blows at the top of his hot chocolate and takes a sip before replying, to burn up all the butterflies in his belly. “Why I cried. Muro-chin’s sadness is contagious.”

"Is that so? I didn’t see Liu or Captain crying."

"They’re immune."

"And you’re not?"

"No."

He doesn’t have to imagine the pink that flits about Muro-chin’s visible cheek, because he sees it in real time. Muro-chin laces their free hands together, and though their fingers are freezing, their blood soon does its work.

"Then you’re lucky, because I’m not sad anymore."


End file.
